


Sweet Tooth

by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild



Series: Jake and Cassie's Food Files [2]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Because he denies Cassandra nothing, But he helps, Cassie has a sweet tooth, CassieFest, Dessert & Sweets, F/M, Jake does not, Kissing, Love, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, he's a teddy bear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:11:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8306419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild/pseuds/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: Cassandra has a massive sweet tooth...Jake is slightly disgusted by the amount of sugar she's able to consume. But, it isn't long before he finds his own sweet tooth. Kissing Cassie. A series of one-shots exploring Cassie's sweet tooth and Jake's sweet tooth for the synesthete.





	1. Cake Pop

Jake is only mildly disgusted by the idea of a cake pop. _But_ for a man who has seen the things he has, and barely blinked an eye at some of it, he’s doing a piss-poor job of hiding said disgust. This, of course, only makes this whole disastrous ordeal more hilarious to an already giggling Cassie. 

Who is, at the moment, up to her elbows in cake crumbs and chocolate frosting, scooping out tablespoons of the horrifyingly sweet mixture and rolling it into a ball before dropping it onto a cookie sheet. A cookie sheet lined with parchment paper that was sprayed with canola oil. 

“What are these things called again?” 

“Cake pops.” Cassie speaks matter-of-factly even as she rolls her eyes at having to tell him for the twentieth time. “Now, go melt that bag of chocolate.” 

“But you already have…” he motions in the vague direction of the bowl. 

“I know.” she sighs, dropping the last ball of icing and cake onto the cookie sheet. She turns toward him, licking the last of the mixture off of her finger and points to the picture taped to a cabinet door for reference. “After they freeze, you roll them in melted chocolate, top with sprinkles or nuts and let the chocolate set before you eat them.” 

“And, then you go to the dentist to get your cavities filled?” Jake’s eyebrow arches, practically up to his hairline. 

“No.” Cassie grins, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You make more.” 

_“Cassandra!”_


	2. Candy Apples

There is an assortment of bowls on the counter, a canvas bag full of apples from the farmer's market down the street, skewers, and a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. In the middle of the mess is Cassie - red hair tied up, apron around her waist, and practically vibrating with happiness. 

"Cassie?" Jake smiles, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. "What are you doing, sweetheart?" 

When she turns toward him, she's holding a skewered apple and wearing a gigantic, giddy smile on her face. "Making candy apples!" 

Jake just nods, watching the cute genius roll the apple through three different bowls before dropping it on the cookie sheet. Caramel.  _Two_ toppings. Oreo crumbles and some type of candy. With one apple satisfactorily coated in three layers of sugar, she skewers another apple and repeats the process. Peanuts and mini chocolate chips. 

Wow. 

Boy, does she like her sugar. 

"Jake?" 

"Yeah, darlin'?" 

"You want to help?" Cassie plucks an apple from the bag and a skewer, holding both out to him, in some sort of offering.   

Unable to resist her big blue eyes and that sweet little smile, he takes them from her and takes up the job of dipping the apples in the caramel and handing them to her. It's quiet work, except Cassie's giggle when an apple falls off of a skewer and it takes Jake ten minutes (and a burned finger) to fish it out of the pot. He drops on the cookie sheet and stabs it with a skewer before looking over at a still giggling Cassie. "Any particular reason, you wanted to make candy apples?" 

"I - um - I never got to do it as a kid." she explains quietly, taking the candied confection from him and rolling through the Oreo crumbles. "Parents, you know." 

Yeah. 

He knows a little something about parents. His relationship with his own being whatever it was. But, he still couldn't imagine what Cassie's parents must have been like to deny her such a simple childhood joy like making candy apples. It makes it easier to understand why she's so eagerly involved in activities that are usually for children. So, despite his aversion to such large quantities of sugar, he takes an apple from the bag and starts his work once again, but not before sharing a secret of his own with her. 

"I never made 'em, either, Cassie." 

Cassie grins up at him. 

Jake buys another bag of apples. 

 

 

 


	3. Gummy Worms

Jake is well aware of Cassie's cavity-inducing fondness for all things sweet. This is the woman who made cake pops  _and_ candy apples within the same two weeks. He just didn't exactly know of her reliance on sugar, which is to say, he didn't know it'd become her go-to meal replacement when there was no time on cases to grab something to eat. Or, when work left him with little time to cook - his food tends to be her preferred dining experience. 

He does now. 

Because, there she is, bent over some book on mathematical theory, nibbling on a neon gummy worm with the rest of the bag close by. 

"Cassie?" he knocks gently on the doorframe -  _everything_ is a weapon if you startle her. If you look at Ezekiel's back, this week, you'll notice a long, thin bruise. Yes. She pelted him with a pencil because he snuck up on her. Her big blue eyes look up at him and she looks a little ridiculous, gummy candy between her lips, but adorable nevertheless. "Cassie ha-have you eat today?" 

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that - no, he hadn't seen her eat today. 

With a sheepish smile, she holds up the bag of gummy worms. "These." 

"That's not food, Cassie." 

"No, but - " she sinks back as if scared to speak, afraid of revealing too much. 

"But what, sweetheart?" Jake tilts his head, encouraging her with the gentle prod of his Southern twang. 

She smiles, almost fondly, as she explains quietly. "On Fridays, if I was good, my Mom would buy me a bag of gummy worms. I had to eat them before Dad got home but - " 

"It felt normal." 

"Jake, I never had much to call mine." Cassie's fiddling with the brightly colored cellophane bag, distracting herself enough to keep a healthy distance from the memories. "I had only what they wanted me to have like an education. But, on Fridays, I could eat that candy and pretend I didn't hate them so much." 

"Aw, darlin'." he definitely never knew that about Cassandra. "I'm sorry." 

"It's not your fault. My parents are complicated." she shrugs it off. "So, I never wanted much. I was taught from a young age that wanting is a waste of time. Why have something that doesn't benefit my brain or enhance my learning?" 

"Wanting something isn't a crime, Cassandra." Jake pushes off of the doorframe and makes his way closer to her. "We all want somethin', even Ezekiel." 

"But - " 

"No," because he already knows where this is going. "That was before I knew you, Cassie." 

It takes a solid minute to wrap her mind around his words but when it happens, she looks up at him shyly, a tiny little smile tugging at her mouth. "What about now, Jake?" 

"Aww, sweetheart," Jake drags a hand through his messy hair. "If I had known then, what I know about you, now..I might have helped you." 

"I don't want your sympathy." 

And, he knows that's genuine Cassandra. She doesn't ask for sympathy, doesn't  _need_ it. She wants to be treated like a normal human being, she needs the sense of normalcy, even though nothing about her life has been normal. Not even up until this point. 

"It's not sympathy, Cassie." that's a promise - it isn't, because he knows that's not what she wants. 

"What is it?" her forehead wrinkles in confusion. 

"Caring." he snatches the bag of candy from her before she can polish off the last few gummy candies in the bag. "Like caring for you enough not to let this bag of candy be the only thing you eat today." he goes a bit gruff to brush off the vulnerability of the conversation and how exposed he feels having admitted that, on some level, he might have helped her, had he known what she went through to become who she is. Nevertheless, he holds out his hand and tilts his head in the direction of the kitchen. "C'mon. I'll make you a pizza." 

"Ooh!" 

 

 

 


	4. Chocolate Chip Cookie

The all-night grocery store is empty except for a bored, sleepy checker and a couple of pimply, teenaged boys sneaking alcohol under the guise of stocking shelves. It does little to stop Cassandra Cillian from accomplishing her mission. With her cardigan tugged tight around her small frame, eyes red and watery, and her shoulders squared - she walks through the aisles looking for a single thing. 

Chocolate chip cookie dough. 

The cut-and-bake dough still existed, surely, even in a little no-name grocery store like this one. Where even the few cartons of milk on the shelves had begun collecting dust. At least, she hoped that was dust. Either way, she needed cookie dough. Raw, gooey, sticky cookie dough. Because, it'd been one hell of a long night, and she needed to drown her sorrows in sugar. 

Thank you, Liz Cillian. 

Usually, her mother meant no harm. At least, of the physical or mental variety, but emotionally, she had the unique ability to find Cassandra's weak spot and press and push and tear at it until her daughter fell apart at the seams. It's one of the things Cassie's always hated about her mother - why she'd made those gummy worms a comfort food, because she could hate her mother a little less and it made her feel like less of a bitch for feeling that way. 

She does a quick scan of the frozen foods. Eck. All they have is sugar cookies with the gross food coloring design in the middle. Well. This is a fail. She tries not to let it bring more tears to her eyes but it kind of does and she kind of hates how easily her emotions are being manipulated, tonight. Unless...

Jake cooks. 

So, it stands to reason, he could help her come up with some chocolate chip cookies. In a split second decision, she's rushing out of the store and out to her car to drive to his house. She doesn't really stop to consider whether or not it's a good idea but she doesn't really care all that much. 

He is adorably disheveled when he answers her frantic knocking. Still clad in the black and gray plaid and dark jeans from earlier that day, leather cuff wrapped around his wrist, and his black hair going in about a million different directions. His blue eyes take in her pajama and sweater clad form, and her name is spoken with a drowsy rasp. "Cassie?" 

"I want chocolate chip cookies." 

Not really helpful, but it seems to be all he's going to get, at least until he invites her in. "Alright," he opens the door wider. "C"mon in." 

Cassie follows him into his house without another word. She's quiet. Too quiet. When she's comfortable, she talks. Rambles. They've had conversations about everything and nothing all at the same time because she wanted to talk. "Cassie?" Jake's arm is warm around her shoulders, but she barely acknowledges it. "Hey, you're freezing. We gotta warm you up." 

He guides her into the kitchen and disappears down the hall that leads to his bedroom, returning with a blanket to wrap around her shoulders. When she's all wrapped up and thawing out, he leaves her at his kitchen table and starts pulling ingredients to make her chocolate chip cookies. While he doesn't really have a massive sweet tooth, he does have his Mama's recipe for old fashioned chocolate chip cookies, so gooey and sweet, dentists nation-wide would hate you for even thinking about them. 

"Wanna tell me what's goin' on?" he's pouring flour into a sifter, adding salt and sugar, and mentally checking the ingredient list. "You look a little wrecked, darlin'." 

"Mom." 

"Mom?" he drops the sifter in the bowl and turns to look at her. "Did something happen with your Mama, Cass?" 

"She called me." Cassie tugs the blanket a little tighter around her shoulders, revelling in the warmth and the scent of Jake that surrounded her. "It was bad, Jacob. She w-wanted to know if I was still wasting time, waiting for my tumor to kill me or if I had conned someone into marrying me."

"Cassie..." because,  _Jesus_ , if he isn't about to smash all three eggs in his hands, just thinking about the kind of woman you'd have to be to say something so awful to your own child. 

"She's right, Jake." 

"About what, sweetheart?" the dough is starting to come together under his hands, but his attention is on Cassie. 

"About me." Cassie can't do anything but wring her hands in her lap and avert her eyes. 

It's part of the reason, she has such a difficult relationship with her parents. Liz Cillian had her moments of softness for her daughter, but for the most part, she was a strict mother and expected the very best out of Cassandra. For the most part, she was exactly what they expected of her, until she was diagnosed. Until the brain grape. Then, instead of helping  _her_ cope, they acted as if it was their world that was torn apart, not hers. Jack and Elizabeth Cillian were far from perfect, something that was made clear when their "perfect little genius" developed a flaw and they were too selfish to help her cope. 

"No." Jake shakes his head, wiping his hands on a towel, and making his way over to Cassie. He kneels down between her knees and settles his hands on her small hips. "She's wrong, baby. She doesn't see the world the way you do, Cass. She doesn't know." 

"But - " 

"Saving the world," his hands are warm and slightly sticky when he cradles her face but she doesn't care. "Doing the things you do, that's not wasting away, sweetheart. That's living." 

"You really think so?" a hot blush stains her cheeks because Jake has the unique ability to make her feel like the smartest woman in the world. 

"I know so." he thumbs the heated flesh along her cheekbones tenderly. "You ignore her, okay?" 

"Okay." Cassie giggles quietly. 

"Now," he stands up and reaches for her hand. "Come make these cookies." 

They work side by side, one with a melon baller and the other with a fork to press the cookies into flat discs. The dough is sticky but Cassandra doesn't care, it's edible either way and he ends up having to promise to make her a batch to freeze, in case she should ever need an emergency chocolate chip cookie. But, it comes with a condition. 

"Sleep at my place, Cassie." it's that voice, again. That soft, tender voice that only seems to come out when he's concerned for her. She's never heard him use it with anyone else. "You're tired, you don't need to drive, right now." 

Her attempt at a protest, however half-hearted, only results in a yawn as if to prove his point. Staying at his place does sound nice and she's not terribly sure she wants to be alone, right now, anyway. Also, his puppy face is kind of adorable so she's not really in any position to say no. They agree on sleeping arrangements  _but_ if they happen to fall asleep on the couch, cuddled together under a blanket, then so be it. 

Blame it on the cookies. 

 


	5. Hot Cocoa

With a defeated sniffle, and yet  _another_ used tissue, Jake Stone tugs the afghan from the back of the couch and falls back into the overstuffed leather cushions. God, it really sucked - uh, having a cold,  _not_ his current location. Actually, Cassie's couch wasn't a bad place to be on a good day, but when he's sick it's practically heaven. To be honest, he's not quite sure how he ended up suffering through this God-awful illness at her house, but far be it from him to complain if a gorgeous woman wanted to take care of his grumpy ass. 

"Everything hurts." He, of course, will deny whining until the day he's six feet under and his bones have turned to dust, but Cassie will happily attest to his childish action. 

"It's just a cold, Jake." she giggles, even as she sits down next to his shivering frame stretched along the back of her couch. Taking one of his hands in hers, she absently thumbs the joints of his fingers.

Tease him though she may, she knows how bad a cold can be. The heaviness hanging behind your eyes and the throbbing pressure in your sinuses in tandem with a fever, an inability to breathe and the constant tickle of a cough caught in the back of your throat. It sucks. All of it. 

"It feels like death." 

Oh  _no._

While she knows on some level, he didn't mean it literally, or at all, it still stings because she  _is_ dying. He will outlive her by years, possibly decades, and it is unlikely he'll ever face what she does everyday. "Jake," her voice is quiet, barely audible, even in her silent living room. "You're not dying." 

A grunt and then, "Feels like it." 

She drops his hand as if his touch hurt her, excusing herself to the kitchen to do something. It takes a few minutes for his cold and DayQuil addled brain to catch up but when it does, it does so quickly. 

_Crap._

He really stuck his foot in it. 

It's an unspoken rule between the Librarians and the Guardians to watch the talk of death and/or dying around Cassandra. While sometimes, she takes it well, even makes a few of the same jokes, him and Ezekiel have been known to make, other days she isn't so fine and goes uncharacteristically quiet when death is brought up. They've learned not to make morbid jokes a habit unless Cassie is well out of earshot. 

The afghan hits the floor. 

"Cassie!" he finds her in the kitchen, back to the door while she measures out scoops of cocoa powder and sugar. "Darlin', I'm sorry." dragging a hand through his already messy hair, he continues. "I shouldn't have joked like that." 

"It's fine, Jake." 

But Cassie isn't very good at brushing off when she's hurt. Ezekiel has experience with this. She most definitely is not fine and Jake can see it in the rigid straightness of her back and the stiffness in the way she moves. "Cassie..." 

"Jacob." her stiff movements halt, like the gears in a clock, and sugar spills across the counter in a starburst of crystals. "I said - " 

"I know what you said, sweetheart." the cold shaves octaves off of his Southern twang, making it little more than a rasp. "What did you mean?" 

"You aren't dying." Cassie's voice is cool, clipped. "I promise you, it is nothing like you're experiencing." 

"So, tell me what it is, Cassandra." He slips his arms around her, pressing his mouth into the top of her head. "Talk to me, Cassie."

Her eyes close and her voice is barely a whisper; "Dying is living each day without the promise of tomorrow." fists clench, knuckles going white. "I'm not guaranteed even an hour from now. That fifteen year girl, the one in the hospital bed blind with pain but hallucinating wildly, s-she was dying, Jacob. That is dying." 

Maybe it's a conscious move to let her know he's there for her or maybe it's a selfish action to remind him that she's there with him. "Cass -"

My Mo- do you know what my mother did when the doctor told her I probably wouldn't live to see my thirtieth birthday?" Her teeth clench around the words. 

"No."

She blamed me." the words hurt, reopening old wounds, bleeding out all of the toxicity of her past. "I never asked for the brain grape but my death sentence is still my fault." tears slip down her cheeks, tracts of hot salt smudging her makeup. "The Cillian name is all they ever cared about. Making sure they produced doctors or lawyers to build a better legacy than what Dad had." 

What?!" 

It's reasonable disbelief and it provides Cassie with the strength to continue. "My grandpa was a coal miner. Dad didn't have much growing up, and he resented that." 

"That's crap!" Jake grumbles, kissing her head in hopes of providing some form of comfort.

"So, he tried to fix it." Cassie releases a deep breath. "He thought if he made better - did better than grandpa, he could fix the past. When I was diagnosed with a brain grape, he acted like his world was ripped away."

"Putting a whole legacy on you was unfair, Cassie." Jake argues, tilting his head to look at her face. 

"They didn't hear that, though." She leans back into him. "I was supposed to be a doctor or a lawyer. I was supposed to be perfect." 

"Well," He spins her around, pressing her back into the counter, and reaching up to thumb the tears from her cheeks. "If you ask me, they're missing out on a pretty great woman." 

"You think so?" Cassie questions shyly, a pretty flush stains her cheeks. 

"Sweetheart," he's got that look in his eyes, that mix of disbelief and amazement and adoration. That look he saves just for her. "I've seen you do things with that brain, that most people only dream of." He takes her face in his hands, "Your shitty parents can think what they want. I think you're pretty damn perfect, Cassandra Cillian." 

Cassie giggles and slips her arms around his torso, blue eyes wide and sparkling when she says, "I think you're pretty damn perfect, too, Jacob Stone." 

"Really? Because I-"

He doesn't say anymore because she cuts him off with a kiss. It is shy and tentative and warm and just perfect. The kettle shrieks beside them but neither care. Feverish hands explore soft skin and she's surprisingly nimble with the buttons on his shirt. But, it never gets further because Jake's body betrays him and he's forced to pull away to sneeze. 

"Aww geez." 

Cassie just giggles and leans up to kiss his cheek. "How about I finish here and we watch a movie?" 

Jake grumbles his agreement and makes his way back to the living room. He picks the blanket up off of the ground and collapses on the couch, listening to Cassandra hum while she prepares hot cocoa. 

Later, after they've both killed two cups of hot cocoa, each with whipped cream and cinnamon, Cassie will find herself sandwiched between the back of the couch and Jake. He'll be sleeping peacefully, face pressed into her stomach, arms wrapped her like a child clutching a teddy bear. She'll drag her fingers through his hair, rub his back, and smile as the credits roll on a muted Halloween movie.

Now, this?

This is perfection.


	6. Pumpkin Pie

Jake makes the somewhat hasty decision not to return to Oklahoma for Thanksgiving. It is a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it's one year of not sitting by his sister and shrinking under the disappointed stares of his father and the sad longing in his mother's chiming voice when she speaks of Isaac's retirement and needing someone to take over the family business. It's a curse because he looks forward to seeing his sister Danielle and his nieces, Hannah and Lacey and eating his mama's home cooking but he just can’t face his father. He can’t make himself deal with Isaac Stone’s sorry excuse for parenting. 

So, he plans a quiet day in the library with a pot of coffee and his laptop to clear the clutter of unfinished papers, review and edit student submissions, and publish several scientific articles on the chemistry of paint and how the degradation isn't always a sign of age. And, for the most part, it works. He just didn’t count on having company.

“Jake?”

His eyes blink heavily, flicking away from the laptop screen to find the source of the voice. He shouldn’t be surprised to find Cassie but his stomach still does a little flip when he sees her standing before him, cradling a white box in her hands.

“Cassie, hey.” he saves his work and closes the laptop.

“I thought you’d be on your way to Oklahoma…?” but, she doesn’t sound disappointed that he’s still here, rather, she sounds pretty damn happy that he stuck around on a holiday.

“Uh, no.” Jake shakes his head, rubbing his bleary eyes. “I’m finally in a good place. I’d rather not have Pop ruin that.”

“Won’t you miss them?” Cassie’s head tilts curiously. “I mean, won’t you be lonely?”

“Trust me, Cass, it’s lonelier listening to my Pop talk about how much of a disappointment I am.” he stands up from the chair and motions toward the box in her hands. “What’s in the box, sweetheart?”

She grins as she lifts the lid and presents the confectionary treat as if it is some wondrous artifact - which, oh hell, pumpkin pie is his favorite so it definitely qualifies in his mind. The pie looks deliciously thick, with soft peaks of fresh whipped cream around the edge and a golden brown crust.

“Homemade…” Cassie looks a little hesitant, as if afraid he’ll turn down her offer. “I was going to go home but I wanted to be happy and I’m happiest here. I need this place so...do you want to share?”

“Sure!”

The kitchen is small but it still takes Jake a good ten minutes to find two paper plates, two plastic forks, and a couple of flimsy plastic knives. He grins victoriously, holding them above his head as he makes his way to the small breakfast table. “Here we go!” 

“Jake?”

“What’s up?” he’s dismantling the box and flattening it out in order to get to the pie.

Cassie watches him for a moment, the careful way he slices generous portions of her pumpkin pie and serves them both. It takes her another minute to form her question and when she does, she’s not sure she wants to ask, not sure what reaction it’ll get but he never talks about his family, even when he could probably benefit from it.

“Cass?”

“Your father...why is he so disappointed in you?” Cassie wonders aloud, looking up at the dark haired genius. “You’re a genius, Jake. Brilliant. You have the world in your head. What is there to be disappointed about?”

“Family’s complicated, baby.” Jake sighs, dropping into the chair across from her. “I didn’t take over the family business. I left. I disappeared, didn’t call, didn’t write. I’m a disappointment because I didn’t do what I was raised to do. He groomed me my entire life to take over and I didn’t. Forget about all the times he disappointed me.”

“How did he disappoint you?”

“Forgotten birthdays, never being there.” his eyes avert quickly, staring at the pie on his plate. “Y’know, I played football for eight years and he never came to one of my games - not one. It was the one thing I thought I got right about being a Stone, but evidently that isn’t even one of them.”

“I’m sorry, Jake.” because, she is. She’s  _ so  _ sorry and she feels selfish for talking about her parents so much and never giving him the opportunity to talk about his.

“He, uh, he worked one Christmas.” Jake’s voice is rough, face scrunched in anger. “Left my Mom to entertain his pain in the ass family because nothing comes between Isaac Stone and money.” his fist clenches on the table top. “The irony? He said I’d never amount to anything. I have more than he does.”

“What do you mean?” Cassie reaches across the table to take his hand, small fingers curling around his tightly clenched fist.

“All that’s ever meant anything to Pop has a dollar sign in front of it or attached to it, somehow.” his quiet explanation makes Cassie sigh because there is no way she could ever put anything in front of Jake. Not now. Not when she knows how deeply he is capable of caring for the people around him. “Money means everything. Ma’s threatened to divorce him, his family only comes around when they’re obligated and my sister’s unhappy as anything. He tried to make the Stone family a cult and got angry when people broke free.”

“That’s not fair to you or your Mom or sister.” his fist is slowly uncurling under her tender ministrations. “Nothing should come before family.”

“Oh, but the Stone’s aren’t that simple.” Jake sighs, opening his hand and wrapping his fingers around hers. “It gets messy. I’m just glad I have this place.”

“You really want to spend Thanksgiving here?” she looks around the tiny kitchen. “I mean the Library’s great but…”

“You were, weren’t you?”

“Actually,” Cassie grins, “Yes. But, only if you were here. I wasn’t going to spend it in this place by myself.” a squeeze of his hand and she’s speaking, again. “You are a brilliant, gorgeous man Jacob Stone and I am honored to call you my friend. My best friend.”

His cheeks stain pink.

Oh, he’s so adorable when he blushes. She just doesn’t understand how anything could be more important to a man than his son. Especially when his son is Jacob Stone. To her, Jake is more of a gift than any heightened abilities her brain grape had left her with. There’s a certain warmth about him, maybe it’s the soft Southern twang in his voice, or the way his intense blue eyes sparkled when the gears in his head started turning and information poured out of his mouth as if read from an encyclopedia. Or, maybe it’s his friendship, how he hadn’t trusted her at first, but had come so far. Had come to a point where they could tell each other anything. Where he is the only one who can anchor her and she is the one he confides in about the inner workings of the Stone family.

“I don’t understand why our parents have to be the way they are.” Cassie sighs, picking at her slice of pie.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” but, the truth is, right now, with her, he could care less about why things had to be the way they ended up. “If they hadn’t ended up the way they did, I might not have ever met you, Cass. I ain’t real sure I want to know where I’d have ended up. Probably in more bar brawls, losing more hats.”

That makes her giggle and he smiles at the sound. He likes to hear it, wants to hear it more often, and silently vows to always find a way to make her laugh. And, so what if neither of them have ideal families? Maybe family isn’t what you’re born into, it’s the people you choose to allow into your world, the people you choose to be as vulnerable with as you are strong. And, maybe he wasn’t always willing to open up in the beginning and that made things a little rough, but he wouldn’t trade his family for the world, now. Especially the cute little redhead across from him eating pie with a content little smile on her face.

“I like where I am, Cassie.” Jake murmurs, cheeks staining a little pinker than before.

“I like it, too, Jake.”

Yes.

Happy Thanksgiving, indeed.

(Also, Jake would like to state that, for the record, Cassie can make one hell of a pie.)

  
  



	7. Peppermint

Cassandra loves peppermint. 

Especially around Christmas, whether it’s candy canes or the little round peppermints that you could buy by the hundreds - it doesn’t matter, she eats all of it. So, when it comes time for Jake to get Cassie something for Christmas, he knows the perfect gift. 

Home-made peppermint bark. 

Three bars of Portland’s own _Moonstruck_ milk chocolate, a box of candy canes, and a bottle of peppermint extract and he’s ready to go. He even has a box and a fancy ribbon - although, he’s not that great at tying fancy knots. An hour after crushing multiple candy canes, melting the chocolate, and pouring in a small amount of extract - he’s got it on a cookie sheet and in his fridge to harden.

When it’s all cracked into bite-sized chunks, arranged maybe not as artfully as it could be in the tissue lined box, and the ribbon is tied into the best bow he can finagle, he scrawls her name on a tag and attaches it to the box. 

For the first time in a while, Jake Stone is excited for Christmas. 

… 

_Christmas Day._

Jake whistles some cheesy Christmas tune while he prepares the coffee, careful to keep the noise low so as not to wake Cassandra. It’s not his first Christmas with her, but it is his first _with_ her and it is definitely his first with her in his bed, and that _thrills_ him. 

It’s why he made sure to wake before she did so he could do this. He pours the coffee into two mugs, grabs her gift from his fridge, and arranges it all on a tray before making his way back to the bedroom where she’s curled up in his bed. To his surprise, she’s staring at the door-frame with sleepy blue eyes when he appears with her gift. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Jake smiles, sidestepping the trail of clothing on the floor to get to his bed. 

“What’s this?” Cassie stretches and sits up against the headboard. 

“Well,” he hands her the tray and pulls back the covers to get back in bed. “I went to get your gift and it goes good with coffee so I made us some fuel.” 

“My gift?” she looks over at him shyly. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I didn’t buy it. I made it.” he pushes the box towards her. “Open it.”

Not one to argue when it comes to presents, Cassie undoes the bow and eagerly opens the box. Inside is a pile of the most mouthwatering peppermint bark, she’s ever laid eyes on. “Is this…?” 

“Homemade. I know you like peppermint so..” Jake pulls a piece of the chocolate treat from the tissue and holds it up to her mouth. “It’s milk chocolate. Portland’s own moonstruck.” 

She takes the treat, sucking every drop of chocolate from his fingers, if only to relish the way his eyes darken slightly. The mix of mint and chocolate is perfection and her eyes close, moan escaping before she can stop it. “It’s heaven, Jake.” 

“Yeah?” his eyelids droop, heavy with want, because, _oh God_ , how he’d like to kiss her. Taste the chocolate and mint in her mouth. 

“Yes.” Cassie breathes, looking up at him. “You should taste it.” 

“I think I will.” 

And, he does. 

He tastes it the very moment he sweeps her up in a breathless kiss. It’s all want and need and he groans at the taste of chocolate and mint lingering in her mouth. He’s never been one for peppermint but _damn_ , he could get used to this. 

“You’re right, sweetheart.” Jake is breathless but grinning when he pulls away. “It is good.” 

Cassie just giggles. 


	8. S'mores

Jacob pulled uncomfortably at his tie.

This felt…wrong.

Champagne is too sweet, he’d rather have a beer. Not to mention the food. Oh God. The thin filets of bluefin tuna were hardly what they claimed; bland and underwhelming for the three figure price tag attached. And, the atmosphere just isn’t made for an Oklahoma boy. It’s too uppity, whereas Jake was always taught to remember his roots.

Eve’s choice of date for him would certainly be a lovely girl in any other circumstance, but in this environment, he’s just not enjoying himself. The longer they talk - shallow, though the conversation is, because neither of them have much to say - the more he wants to go back to the Annex and spend the night with Cassie and her massive sweet tooth.

“Look, Deana,” he reaches into the inside pocket - there should be a credit card in there...somewhere. Oh. Yes. There it is. The plastic is smooth and when he rubs his thumb over the raised numbers, he's reminded once again of the astronomical bill he'll be forwarding to Eve. "You're a nice girl but my friend sent me here, because she thought I needed a date when the truth is, I'm already in love with somebody."

"Me too." Deana's relieved laugh is music to Jacob's ears. "But Eve isn't the kind of person you can just say no too so I agreed. Plus, the guy I'm in love with - he's with somebody else, so I thought a distraction would be nice." she tilts her head a little. "Tell me about her?"

"Name's Cassie." Jake smiles fondly. "She's gorgeous and she's smart and she's - Cassie's my best friend."

"You should tell her, you're in love with her." Deana suggests softly. "She sounds like a great girl."

"Maybe, I will."

"In the mean time," she gathers her purse and stands up from the table. "How about we get out of here? I'll split the bill if we can send our credit card statements to Eve?"

Jake flips his credit card as if performing a magic trick and smiles slyly, "I was going to, anyway."

"I like you." Deana giggles, linking arms with him. "I don't want wild sex or a second date with you but I see why Eve spoke so highly of you."

"I didn't know she did." he blushes like any good Southern boy does when complimented. "Eve's a tough woman. Hard to tell what she thinks about people."

"Clearly," her dark eyes flick around the restaurant where other patrons - couples wearing proverbial rose colored glasses - are eating bland food by candlelight. "She thought we couldn't get dates on our own. Cupid, Eve Baird is not."

"Don't tell her that."

With a laugh, they reach the counter where they are to pay. Despite splitting the bill, they both cringe at the damage done to their credit cards, each mumbling their promise of revenge on Eve for sending them to such a horrible and overpriced restaurant. They bid each other goodnight with the promise to keep in touch about their significant others.

...

The grocery store is one of Portland's smaller chains, not exactly high-end like he preferred when cooking, but still good enough quality he'll find what he needs without worry of any ill consequences later. With closing time coming in about thirty minutes, it's relatively empty, and when he picks up a basket and threads it onto his arm, he's not surprised to find it only one or two others missing from the stand.

Empty aisles allow him easy access to what he needs - a box of graham crackers, a couple of bars of Portland's Moonstruck chocolate, and a bag of Cassie's preferred marshmallows. The jumbo size because she likes the way they roast. Crisp on the outside but soft and gooey on the inside.

It'd struck him on the way back to the Annex.

His thoughts had strayed back to Cassie, and their conversation about their respective childhoods earlier that week. She'd commented about holidays not being high on her parents' list of priorities and how she'd never had any of the treats most kids had until later in life, when she had branched out on her own.

_"I love s'mores."_

She'd looked adorable with her big blue eyes and how she'd giggled as if sharing a secret. And, he'd missed that. His date with Deana had been good, for what it was, but he'd felt like he was missing something and as soon as he let his thoughts wander back to Cassie, he knew what it was.  
It should have been her.

Cassie.

No blind date, either. He would have picked her up in his truck, and maybe, she would have slid over on the bench seat. All soft and warm snuggled against his side, bouncy red curls tumbling loose around her shoulders, and whatever mixed prints she'd chosen to wear for the occasion fanning around her knees.

She would have demanded they dump the fancy restaurant, asked for pizza and a pint instead, and he would have been more than happy to oblige. Grabbed a pizza and a six pack and headed out to his favorite hiding spot - a field on the outskirts of town, where night rushes in, blanketed by thousands of twinkling stars, and the tall grass sways eerily in the summer wind.

It is not a sudden realization. But, a comfortable thought that settles easily in his mind. If he is honest with himself - a date with Cassie is where his mind goes when he needs to calm down. When a clipping has him overworked, or exhausted, or he's stressed from some new paper. He lets his thoughts wander, seeing in his mind's eye, just how happy he is with her. He thinks about being with her, sharing meals and conversation and moments and a life.

That's a possibility, now.

Not a dream or fantasy or fairy-tale that'll never come true, it is a possible reality, now. And, it thrills him.

It makes him go that much faster through the check-out line.

...

Cassie twirls a blue highlighter between her fingers, absently scanning the words on the page, even as her mind goes somewhere else. Somewhere with bright blue eyes and dark, messy hair and a handsome smile. Somewhere with "sweetheart" and "darlin'" murmured in a raspy Southern drawl. Somewhere with big hands and a bigger heart and a fierce protectiveness.

But, that _somewhere_ wasn't with her.

He was out on a blind date.

_"Shit!"_

The loud curse closely follows the muffled stomp of shoes and what sounds like a head banging on something. Dropping the highlighter onto the open book, she reluctantly makes her way to the double doors of the Annex entrance.

"Jake?"

Bright blue eyes look up from where he's juggling a bag, his jacket, and a something in a cardboard box. His arms shift upward to present his offering - a six pack of beer and a paper bag full of something. "My date didn't go so well. Want some s'mores and beer?"

"Sure!" her eyes light up and she rushes to hold the door open. "Here or did you have another place in mind?"

The Annex is empty.

Jenkins and Ezekiel are busy with Nessie and her baby and Flynn had whisked Eve away for a romantic adventure - if there was such thing. But, still. It felt too empty. It didn't quite feel like home, no matter how comfortable and how much like home they tried to make it.

"I don't know, Cass, it's kind of empty." Jake looks around, "Kind of cold."

"I know." Cassie sighs, looking down at the tiled floor. A few minutes of comfortable silence passes before an idea dawns and she's looking up at Jake, eyes sparkling with a renewed excitement. "I have an idea!"

"Cass?"

She disappears down a corridor. He hears a door thump against a wall, Cassie's frustrated grumbling, a squeal of excitement when she happens upon whatever she'd been searching for, the slam of the door, and finally her shoes squeaking as she runs down the corridor. She appears before him, slightly disheveled, but with enough pillows and blankets to build a nest.

"I know the library isn't ideal but," Cassie squeezes a pillow into submission out of her face so she can look at him. "We've got a fireplace and enough pillows and blankets, I think we can make it work."

...

She's right, of course.

They do make it work. A small mattress constructed of pillows, just big enough for both of them, and a veritable nest of blankets - ranging from small fleece throws to large knit afghans - occupies several square feet in front of the fireplace. It only takes him a few minutes to start a fire. It's not large but it's warm and comfortable and when he settles back onto the mattress, he reaches for the bags to get the s'mores started.

"Here, sweetheart." he sets them in front of the small redhead. "Let's have some s'mores."

Cassie takes great delight in sorting through Jake's purchases. It's a large spread, even if it is cavity inducing, and he hands her a stick to roast her marshmallows while he opens a couple of beers.

"So," the large marshmallow is soft and skewers easily as do her next words on the sharp, cold tone she's using. "What happened on your date?"

"She, um - she was a nice girl but..." he rips open a package of graham crackers and a bar of chocolate to prepare it for a hot, toasted marshmallow.

"But what?" Cassie lets the flames lick at her sweet treat for a moment before retracting it and blowing on it. "Was something wrong with her?"

Yes.

Something was.

Something so alarmingly obvious, it'd thrown Jacob off from the beginning and rendered him unable to enjoy himself.

"Well?"

"Sorry," he helps her sandwich the marshmallow between two graham cracker halves and the chocolate bar. "Yeah. She just wasn't the right girl. I don't know."

Cassie just hums, taking the s'more from him so he can make his own. They sit in comfortable silence while he makes his own s'more and she nibbles on hers. It takes him a whole s'more, half a bottle of beer, and a deep breath to work up the courage to tell her the story behind his blind date.

"Eve set us up. She's been friends with this girl for a while, thought we'd be a good match." for some reason, he can't seem to meet Cassie's eyes and instead, stares into the fire. "She was a nice girl, like I said, but there was something wrong with her. Something that was obvious, it kept me from having a good time."

"Which was?" Cassie tilts her head.

"She wasn't you, Cass." the marshmallow goo is hot where it leaks into the palm of his hand and his fingers are sticky with melted chocolate because he squeezes the s'more a little tighter with every word.

Tense, nervous.

"She w-wasn't me?" Cassie stutters thickly.

He can only nod, swallowing a large drag of beer. Maybe, it's liquid courage or a distraction, he can't tell but his nerves don't flare quite so much when it hits his bloodstream. Cassie is at a loss for words, flushing red, eyes flicking between him and her own beer - which, she'd very much like to chug like a frat boy at a party.

"Look," Jake drops his snack on the plastic bag on the floor, grabbed a napkin left there from the last pizza night, and shifts around to look at her. "I tried. For Eve and Deana was a great girl but. Cass, she just wasn't you. She wasn't what I wanted. I wanted you with me. I wanted us to get in my truck, grab a pizza and a pint and go out to that field we both like so you could trace constellations for hours."

"That sounds perfect, actually." Cassie giggles, dropping her own s'more on the plastic bag by Jake's. "My kind of date. I missed you, tonight, Jacob."

"Cass..."

"I'm used to you being around." she confesses, feeling a little breathless at such a vulnerable admission. "I'm used to hearing you sing while you work on a paper, when you think nobody can hear you. I'm used to hearing your boots on the floor while you wander around looking for a book. I'm used to you, Jake."

"I love ya, Cassie." Jake grins that perfect little grin of his. "There's no way around it, I just do."

Cassie's eyes sting.

That's new. Nobody's ever told her they loved her, before. Her parents certainly never said it when she was a child, so she never expected it. She got used to never hearing it. But, now, hearing it from him, hearing his Southern drawl wrap around the words, hearing the sincerity in them - it's enough to draw tears to her eyes.

"Nobody's ever said that to me." Cassie whispers, blue eyes, so big and wet and vulnerable when she meets his. "My parents - they didn't love me. They didn't know how. And I was so isolated. Do you mean it?"

"Sweetheart," Jake reaches across the mattress of pillows and blankets and easily scoops her up, tugging her into his lap. "You should know by now, I always mean what I say. Us Oklahoma boys - well, we gotta be honest, it's how we get the pretty girls. That and a good bar fight." she giggles a little at that, despite the tears. He brushes the dampness away with his thumb and leans his forehead against her temple. "Cass, if I could, I'd go back and I'd take you away from your awful folks and you'd always, _always_ know how loved you are."

"I wish you could, too." Cassie smiles, settling into his warmth, nestling her head in that perfect spot where his neck met his shoulder. Where his preferred collared shirts kept the skin flushed and warm and where the scent of his aftershave lingered. "I love you, too, Jake. Thank you."

"What for, darlin'?" Jake's hand glides along her spine, so warm and soothing, drawing a tired yawn from the redhead so happily nestled in his arms.

"For making me feel loved and safe." she breathes, nuzzling her face into his dress shirt.

"You never have to thank me, sweetheart." Jake whispers, kissing her head. "Never."

The rest of the s'mores and beer are forgotten, the chill still lingering in the March air creeps in as the fire dies out, and the Library slowly goes dark. Eventually, they'll rearrange into a more comfortable position, wrapped up tight in each other's arms, sleeping comfortably together as if that is how it has always been.

In an artifact room, the loom of fate thrums with the bright glow of magic as the threads of Jacob Stone and Cassandra Cillian are knotted together.

 


	9. Licorice

"Cassie, darlin', you realize they have, like, five million flavors of licorice?" Jake laughs into his cell phone, eyes scanning shelves full of tubs, bags, and boxes of the chewy candy. "Which flavor?"

"Original, please?" Cassie requests from the other end, browsing Jake's extensive book and movie collection. That wasn't so much arranged neatly as stacked haphazardly so that retrieving a book or DVD case felt a bit like a game of Jenga. "And, you realize that, scientifically speaking, how you have your books arranged should not be possible?"

"And, it just bugs ya." Jake teases, grabbing a couple bags of the original black licorice.

"It does not." she pouts over the phone, but even she knows she's lying.

"Yes, it does."

"Okay, so it does but there are just so many more efficient ways you could arrange them." Cassie protests, the gears already turning in her head, mapping out different ways they could be arranged for better efficiency and less danger of him being injured via hardback book.

"Stop thinkin' so hard, sweetheart." he can't help but laugh at a little. "Have you picked a movie?"

"No."

It's a forced confession. She doesn't want to admit exactly why she hasn't picked a movie because that would probably end with him laughing at her in the middle of the grocery store. He suspects she's been too wrapped up in planning a makeover for his poor storage habits.

"Cassie, I've seen that lab of yours." Jake smirks, heading for the cash register. "Flynn's desk looks better."

"Hey!" Cassie yelps in protest.

"At least I can see it!" he argues, dropping the candy onto the conveyor belt. "I can't even see that thing you call a work table. I've never seen so many numbers in my life."

"Oh please." she brushes him off.

"Darlin', I'm an art historian. Not much math involved." he reminds her, tugging his wallet out of his jeans. "Dates are about it, rough estimates at best."

"What about when you were a surveyor or working for your father?" Cassie is oh-so-sure she has one up on him, this time.

"Estimations." Jake shrugs, handing the cashier his debit card. "Isaac Stone never cared much about the details, unless it was money."

"Fine!" Cassie huffs. "I admit my desk could use some work but your shelves are much worse!"

"They're fine, Cass. Pick a movie." he just laughs at her. "I'll be home soon."

"Fine." she's pouting, again - which is just fine with him, he'll have fun kissing it off of her pretty face, later, when they've lost interest in the movie. "Bye."

"Bye, darlin'."


End file.
